Chapter One

 

Kaitlyn had a life others could only dream of. She didn't have a mere bedroom at her family's house, she had a suite. And it wasn't so much a house as it was an estate on twenty acres of land near San Diego California.

Her parents largely didn't care what she spent money on. So she had built a gaming room when she was fourteen. Or rather, she had the butler contact men who came in and built it for her. It had a huge, curved screen attached to a comfortable, semi-reclining chair that allowed it to move up to 45° in any direction. Thankfully, it also had seatbelts.

There was an amazing sound system and high-speed computers. She also had a virtual reality system that would hold her in place as she ran on a movable floor and would register when she jumped or ducked.

Kaitlyn was a nerd. She loved books, particularly romances, fantasies, and science fiction. She also loved videogames and disdained the kinds of things normal teenage girls obsessed over. Her older sister had been a fashionista before she'd even hit her teens. She had taken makeup and modeling lessons and always had the most fashionable hairstyle in whatever color was most flattering.

Kaitlyn didn't care about fashion, hairstyles, or makeup. She certainly wasn't interested in what the Kardashians or any other celebrity was doing, and despised reality television. She was almost the complete opposite of her older sister Taylor. Which could also be said of her mother.

Her mother was Taylor plus twenty-five years or so. She had always been a fashionista, had had multiple plastic surgeries done, and, as far as Kaitlyn was concerned, put far too much effort into impressing people and caring what they thought of her.

Her own rejection of all these things was as much a rejection of her mother as it was of the normal interests of teenage girls of her class. She had long understood that her mother was shallow and vain and that her father had married her for her looks.

She supposed there was a time when her mother had tried to form a closer bond with her, back when she was thirteen or fourteen. But that had been frustrated by her annoyance and confusion about Kaitlyn's rejection of all she thought important, not to mention her interests in things her mother simply could not understand.

Reading books? Why would anyone do that when there was television available? And why wouldn't you want to get your nose made perfect, your eyebrows plucked, your hair dyed, and wear expensive designer outfits to impress your friends? Why wouldn't you want to play the endless game of one-upmanship with other girls, the competition of who was prettier and more in demand among the highest-status young men?

So her mother largely dismissed her and focused such maternal instincts as she had, which wasn't all that much, on her sister Taylor, who could have been her clone. The two delighted in going shopping, going to the spa, and visiting fashion shows in Milan and Paris.

By the time Kaitlyn was eighteen, they had both more or less given up on understanding her and stopped inviting her to places they knew she would never be interested in going. Much to her relief. Kaitlyn dismissed them both as airheads.

Her father was about as different from the two of them as was possible. Kaitlyn at least respected him for his intelligence, knowledge, and skill. He also worked very long hours, something that baffled Kaitlyn as much as it did her mother and sister.

With all the money he was worth, and that was an awful lot, he didn't need to work at all. Even with his spendthrift wife and daughter, his multiple houses, his private jet, and his yacht, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Yet he worked all the time, rarely being able to spring himself loose to go anywhere on that yacht. And while the jet was fast and comfortable, he tended to work the entire trip.

Kaitlyn went to Harvard as was expected of her, and found the courses at least mildly interesting. She understood her father's words that even if someone else is managing your money you needed to know enough about it to make sure you understood what they were doing with it.

She had never had an awful lot of friends. Especially after adolescence. All the girls then turned into fashionistas like Taylor. All the guys, including the nerds, turned into perverts. It wasn't that they wouldn't play video games with her anymore, but they always tried to see what else they could play with her, and that got annoying.

Especially when they whined or sulked.

What made it even more frustrating was that Kaitlyn many times wanted to do the same sorts of things they did but was hampered by her great fear that they would gossip about it later. The truth was that she resented how all the pretty flowers looked down on her as some grubby nerd girl, and had no intention of them finding out what her sexual preferences and interests were or what she did in bed.

And she knew enough about guys to know that they would be so proud of themselves that they couldn't resist bragging to everyone they knew. Plus, as an inveterate reader, she had researched enough about sex to know that most of them really didn't know what they were doing anyway.

It took experience to be good at sex and they didn't have it. Even experience wasn't a guarantee the guy was any good at it. Especially if he was good-looking. Other girls, and she had heard as much herself, tended to flatter guys in bed. The last thing they wanted was to hurt the guy's ego by telling him that he wasn't really very good and no they hadn't actually enjoyed themselves at all.

So they all learned to fake orgasms.

Because she read so much and did so much research online Kaitlyn had come across an awful lot of weird things in terms of sex, some that repulsed her, and some that fascinated her. She developed an active sex life, with herself. She had several sex toys and was as likely to masturbate to stories she was reading as to videos she was watching.

Perhaps it was inevitable that her anxiety about her reputation had caused her fantasies to gravitate towards fantasies that exempted her from any guilt for doing the kinds of things she wanted to do. That meant someone else had to make her do them. Preferably someone very handsome and sophisticated with a great body.

Or she could be beguiled by a vampire, trapped by a werewolf, or have her will taken over by a sorcerer. Then whatever nasty, dirty thing she did wasn't her fault. She had a lot of fantasies like that, some of them darker than others.

She finally lost her virginity on a trip to London. It was a trip where she had explicitly planned out how to lose her virginity and let herself be picked up by several different men in several different places so that she could sample their abilities. She had not been impressed afterward.

She decided to continue her experiment by exploring sex with another woman, preferably an older woman who knew what she was doing. She was not looking for a girlfriend, after all, but something of a teacher.

She was quite good with the computer and so found her way into local online forums where such things were discussed. There were a lot of lesbian clubs in the city, and she carefully read over the various descriptions of them from different women. But what she found more intriguing, quite by accident, were brief mentions of another club, a club that was not just a bar and pick-up place.

She had to create an account in order to ask tentative questions, but it seemed there was a sort of fantasy sex club where the members could enjoy their kinky sexual fantasies with 'slave girls' who worked there. There were several descriptions of some of the things that people had done with these girls, and all of a sudden, Kaitlyn had a kind of psychic jolt at the idea of joining such a club.

Not as a member but as a slave girl!

The thought left her momentarily breathless. It would be a discrete club where no one she knew could possibly ever hear of what had happened! She would be able to explore her sexual fantasies in a way she would never be able to in real life. And do it safely! After all, who knew what kind of crazy she might encounter if she tried to find a guy and let him tie her up?

From what the women said, most of the club was given over to men to use, but they had a lesbian section too, for well-heeled women to play out their fantasies. Just the thought of being able to play an anonymous 'slave girl' had her body thrumming with excitement.

So her questions were more about where the slave girls came from than how to become a member or what it cost to get in. Most seemed to presume the girls were poor and had been persuaded with money. Certainly, none acted as if they were reluctant to do anything unless they were told to act reluctant.

After more poking around she had set up a meeting with a woman who was a member of the club. They met at a notorious lesbian leather bar called The Stiletto.

She was nervous, to say the least, and spent some time worrying over what she ought to wear. She didn't own anything particularly revealing. In fact, she had stubbornly stayed away from fashionable women's clothes. She avoided dresses and didn't even like high heels.

She wasn't at all sure what one wore to a lesbian leather and lace bar. Leather? She didn't own any. Except for sneakers. And she didn't think those would count. Nor did she own anything lacy. She supposed that these might simply be shorthand descriptions of tough girls (leather) and the girls that let themselves be tied up and bossed around (lace).

The problem was, she wasn't really either. She was actually fairly strong-willed. If she hadn't been, her mother and sister would have gotten her into designer dresses and high heels years ago. Not to mention gotten her hair dyed blonde.

As it was, her hair was a strawberry blonde, leaning toward the strawberry part. Nor would she give in and go to one of the expensive salons her mother and sister favored. She had her hair trimmed now and then when the bangs got too long and left it pretty much as she found it.

Since shorter hair was fashionable she had left hers long, much to the annoyance of her mother, and just tied it in a simple ponytail. Her mother had also been after her to get laser surgery for her eyes, or at least contact lenses. She was wary of surgery and found contact lenses too annoying. She had no need of either. She wore large, round glasses with black frames.

Which weren't exactly sexy, she admitted to herself as she looked in the mirror. Unless...

Kaitlyn wasn't terribly experienced sexually, but she had read a lot online. Mostly about what men wanted and got turned on by. She supposed women weren't all that different. There was a kind of intriguing eroticism about women who didn't wear anything revealing at all. The librarian type.

That was certainly not Kaitlyn. She had no problem wearing crop tops and low-slung jeans or shorts depending on the weather. She kept her body fit, after all, and was actually rather proud of her flat, firm stomach and abdomen.

She was also more than a little proud of her breasts, though she would not have admitted that to anyone. Every boy who'd seen them had been delighted by the sight. They were nicely rounded and firm, which was one of the reasons she was so determined in her fitness routine. She thought saggy breasts looked very ugly and was determined to keep hers as firm as she could for as long as she could.

Sometimes she wished she were more flat-chested so it would be easier. But not when boys, and now men feasted their eyes on them and she got to enjoy a smug sense of satisfaction at the approval and lust in their eyes.

She decided she would wear her gray dress slacks and a white blouse which had a bit of a ruffle around the collar. She would wear a gray blazer over that so that people would think she had just come from work or something. Her one area of agreement with her mother and sister was about lingerie. That was the only girly thing she intended to wear, and she had the money to wear it all the time.

She tried on several colors and then decided that her green silk bra and thong matched well with her pale skin and strawberry-blonde hair. And that was what the woman would see if things proceeded in that direction.

She was mostly hoping she could get information from the woman without actually engaging in sex with her. But wasn't heavily opposed to the thought of experimenting with lesbian sex, though, depending on what the woman looked like and how she acted. It wouldn't hurt to have some experience, after all. And a woman should know more about pleasing another woman than men did,

She agreed to meet the woman in the early evening. The problem, of course, was that she didn't drink and wasn't old enough to drink. She'd never seen the purpose or point of getting drunk anyway. That led to enough trouble for men, let alone for girls. She liked to have her wits about her at all times and was proud of her intelligence.

On the other hand, she had to admit that it would have perhaps relaxed her and made her less nervous as she headed to the bar. She had a top-notch phony ID, of course, and made some halfhearted effort at putting makeup on to make herself look older, but she wasn't all that good at it.

It was rather ridiculous, she thought, that as an adult she could join the Army and kill people or risk getting killed, could vote, could drive, could sign legal documents of any kind, but couldn't have a glass of wine.

It was not logical, and she admired logic and tried to use it as much as possible. Of course, sex was one of those areas where logic rarely had much influence on people.

The bar was down a flight of steps, but when she opened the door she thought that the inside looked like quite an expensive place. Everything was clean and the floor was nicely tiled. The mahogany bar gleamed and the backboard behind it was covered with a wide variety of liquors and wines. There were a lot of booths along the walls, as well. No doubt people preferred their privacy here, she thought.

She was very good at hiding her emotions, and her face gave no indication of the way her pulse was racing as she stepped inside and looked around. There were a few women at the bar, and others in booths along the side. This being a weekday the bar was only about a quarter full, which suited her fine.

She hesitated, not sure if they had floor service, then simply walked to a nearby booth and sat down. She resisted the impulse to slide over into the shadows because the woman would need to see her. All she knew was that the woman's name was Veronique. At least, that was what she called herself online.

She also used phrases like 'dom' and 'top' to describe her sexual preferences. Kaitlyn had made it clear in their communication that she was new to this sort of thing and wanted to experiment. Veronique had promised not to go beyond her limits. Of course, neither of them knew what those limits were yet.

She took out her phone and checked for emails but there was nothing there. She could have asked for the woman's phone number but that would have meant giving her own in return and she wanted to retain her anonymity as much as possible.

When a woman sat down at the table across from her she jerked her eyes up and blinked in surprise. She was... Not what Kaitlyn had expected. She was somewhere in her thirties, true, had an oval face that was more handsome than pretty, and dreadlocks hanging down just past her shoulders. She was also very, very black.

That left Kaitlyn unsure of what to say. Was this Veronique or someone who was trying to pick her up?

"Are you, Veronique?" she asked uncertainly.

"What are you doing here, little girl?" the woman asked in a rough voice.

Kaitlyn's face flushed. "I'm meeting someone. And I'm not a little girl."

The woman was wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt. She put her hand on the table and snapped her fingers.

"Let me see your ID," she said.

Now Kaitlyn thought the woman worked for the bar. She preferred not to carry a purse so reached into her pocket, took out her wallet, and pulled the phony ID from it. The woman took the ID, looked at her, then made as if to hand it back. But instead, she took the wallet from Kaitlyn's hands.

"Hey!" she exclaimed.

She wasn't sure what to do. The woman was certainly stronger looking than her, and certainly a lot better at fighting than her. Not that that would be difficult. She was also older, and very casual about what she was doing.

"Kaitlyn Stevenson," she said. "Age 19."

The ID described her as twenty-one years of age and said her name was Allison Summers.

The woman handed back her wallet, glanced at her phony ID for a moment, then tossed it to her.

"That's pretty good," she said. "But I like to be sure of myself."

Kaitlyn frowned at her, feeling too intimidated to get a good scowl going. She was too far from her own comfortable surroundings.

"My name is Veronique," the woman said. "And you'll be drinking Coke."

That was all she had intended to have anyway so Kaitlyn simply shrugged. The woman got up and went to the bar and Kaitlyn eyed her doubtfully then glanced at the door not far away. She could scurry there before the woman turned around and be out the door. But the woman would think she was a racist. And while Kaitlyn rejected most of the beliefs of her family and peers she was still quite liberal. The idea of having someone think she was a racist was not something she was at all comfortable with.

It wasn't really that the woman was black that made her doubt the idea of having sex with her would be a good idea. It was more that she seemed like the tough, daunting, intimidating sort that she would have trouble relaxing around. The woman had called her a little girl, and in truth, she kind of felt that way. The woman was very confident in herself, while Kaitlyn was well aware of her shortcomings.

There was certainly no way she would be able to meet up with this woman's sexual expectations. Nor would she have much in common with her. The woman could be close to twice her age. Of course, she had wanted someone with experience.

Her indecisiveness meant she was still sitting there frozen when the woman turned around and came back to the booth carrying a glass of what she assumed was Coke and a wineglass.

"Thank you," Kaitlyn said in a low voice.

The woman sat down and looked at her carefully and Kaitlyn's face blushed again.

"So you had absolutely nothing to do with women. Is that correct?"

"Well, um, I guess," Kaitlyn said.

"You don't need to guess. And don't say 'um'. That's a silly, girlish affectation. Say yes or no."

"No. I mean, I'm, I mean yes I haven't so no."

The woman's dour manner was making her nervous.

"And you're interested in experimenting with power exchange games and bondage."

Kaitlyn's face felt very hot. "Well, I um, I have seen stuff like that on the Internet and um, I thought it would be um, exciting."

"Has anyone ever hit you?"

Kaitlyn was taken aback by the question, and for a moment wasn't sure if it was a threat.

"Have you ever been spanked?" Veronique asked.